


It Takes One to Know One

by wheel_pen



Series: Dangerously in Love [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm thinks an assassin may have snuck aboard the Enterprise. Another one, that is. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes One to Know One

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Malcolm is not a member of the Enterprise crew, but rather someone Trip meets in a different way.
> 
> 2\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Three days in space, jaunting out to the farthest frontier in search of strange new worlds and new civilizations... and Trip was finally beginning to get back into the mindset of a Chief Engineer. The repair crews at Jupiter Station had left something important undone that he and his team needed to deal with right away—but Trip couldn't believe Jupiter Station had been so sloppy, and instead suspected his captain had arranged for the job to be "overlooked" so that the Engineering Department would have something to focus on besides the homes and loved ones they were leaving behind. Again.

Two weeks on Earth just wasn't long enough, not after so long in space. Hey, if Earth needed frequent reminders that the crew of _Enterprise_ were out here expanding the universe for humanity, said crew needed just as many reminders of the specific humans they were risking their lives for. But, Trip had to shrug as he plodded back to his quarters after another long day spent calibrating and adjusting, orders were orders. If it had been up to Archer, they would still be on Earth, but he didn't get to make that decision. So the only thing to do was make the best of it.

Trip trudged through the door to his quarters, looking forward to a long, hot shower, a quick venture to the Mess Hall for supper, and an early night. Of course that probably wouldn't happen; he'd get involved in something, either a problem they'd been chewing on all day in Engineering or a conversation with a fellow diner or _something_ , and end up short on sleep again. That seemed to be how it always worked.

The first thing that caught his eye when he entered his cabin was the pictures he'd left on his desk—pretty soon he'd pick the best ones and put them in frames along with all the others above his desk, but until then they were just a happily haphazard pile, reminding him of what he'd spent his shore leave doing. The one that had ended up on top the last time he'd been browsing them was a good candidate for a frame—the traditional family group photo, with all four blond, slightly sunburned Tuckers grinning madly and Lizzie's redheaded, freckled, fair-skinned fiancé looking hilariously dubious about what he was getting himself into. Obviously she hadn't explained to him that when Dad said he'd take the picture on the count of three, he actually meant _immediately_. Trip smirked just looking at the photo. Eh, Paul was a good guy, Trip had assured himself of _that_ to his satisfaction—an accountant or something to do with money, he'd be able to ground Lizzie's sometimes flighty, artistic nature. He just needed to loosen up a little bit more.

"You're late, darling. Hard day?"

Trip nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice and whipped around to see—Malcolm, reclining casually on the bed, flipping through a technical journal. In a few moments Trip would be able to pride himself on the fact that he hadn't let out a girly scream in his surprise, but currently he was working too hard on keeping his heart inside his body.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Malcolm continued, looking up with some concern. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't mean to—" gasped Trip, trying to make sure all his internal organs were still in the right spot after his shock. "Where the h—l did you come from?"

Malcolm smiled, that sly and secretive smile he often employed, and slid off the bed. "Now what kind of a greeting is that?" he chided lightly, resting his hands on Trip's waist. The blond suddenly felt his heart speeding up for reasons that had nothing to do with surprise. "I mean, it's been nearly four months, I thought _maybe_ you would have missed me..."

Trip's mind shot back to the last time he'd seen Malcolm, and he yanked the dark-haired man into a fierce embrace. "I oughta punch you," he murmured in his ear, "for messin' with me like that." Instead Trip kissed him, a heated exchange that he hoped conveyed just exactly how much he _had_ missed Malcolm.

They were both out of breath when they parted. "Well," Malcolm finally sighed, "hello to you, too."

"I need to tell the Captain you're here," Trip reminded him, although he made no move for the comm.

"Let's wait half an hour," Malcolm suggested, and Trip could find no reason to argue with that.

 

Captain Archer was less pleased to see Malcolm. "How long have you been on my ship?" he demanded, after he recovered from the shock.

"Three days," Malcolm replied easily.

"You—were you on _Earth_?" Trip asked, dumbfounded. "But you're, like, Starfleet's Most Wanted!"

"I'm _hardly_ that important," Malcolm countered. "I just kept my head down, that's all."

"How did you get on the ship?" Marcus wanted to know, nearly frothing at the mouth. Between four grown men and the tension they produced, Trip's quarters were beginning to feel mighty small.

Malcolm narrowed his eyes at the Tactical Officer. "Shuttlepod Two," he answered, with just a hint of smugness. "Nobody ever thinks to look in the shuttlepods after they've come back from repairs."

"We will from now on," Archer promised him, his voice steely.

"And where've you been hiding this whole time?" Marcus went on, determined to somehow find a hole in Malcolm's story.

"The catwalk in the starboard nacelle," the dark-hair man replied. "Someone very thoughtfully put a latrine in there," he added, glancing sideways at Trip. Malcolm had, of course, heard about the crew's adventure with the radiation storm. "And the osmium alloy makes it difficult to scan them accurately."

"And just what did you _eat_ , on the catwalk?" the Tactical Officer prodded.

"Nothing," Malcolm confessed, staring the man down. "I'm _actually_ rather hungry."

"You haven't eaten in _three days_?" Trip repeated, aghast. He took Malcolm's arm. "Come on, we gotta get you some food—"

Objections went up at once. Marcus didn't want Malcolm "wandering" around the ship; Archer wanted some more answers first; but it was Malcolm who finally said, "I think it would be better if I didn't leave Trip's quarters, actually. I don't want to be seen."

"Seen by who?" Archer queried, frowning. The last time Malcolm had been aboard, he'd had nearly free rein, much to Marcus's disgust, and a veritable fan club in Sickbay.

"You picked up over a dozen new crewmembers on Earth, Captain," Malcolm pointed out. "I have it on good authority that one of them is the hired assassin."

Marcus laughed in his face, although it was more of a humorless bark. "Every one of those fourteen people has been _thoroughly_ vetted by both Starfleet Security _and_ my people. By me _personally_ \--"

Malcolm was unimpressed. "Considering how easily _I_ got onto this ship, you'll forgive me for not putting all my faith in _your_ security measures," he spat venomously.

Marcus was, understandably, livid at this remark. "And how do I know that you got onto this ship like you _say_ you did?" he accused. "How do I know you didn't have _help_?"

Trip was taken slightly aback, which was nothing compared to Malcolm's reaction. He got right in the taller man's face, his expression furious. "Don't you _dare_ imply that Commander Tucker had _anything_ to do with my presence here," he said, his voice all the more dangerous for its softness. "He would never do that."

Marcus didn't exactly have a step to back up in the tight quarters, but his body language said he would if he could. "I didn't mean Commander Tucker, necessarily," he backtracked, trying to sound like he _wasn't_ backtracking. "I meant _anyone_."

Malcolm turned away from the Tactical Officer dismissively. "I got onto the ship on my own," he repeated, meeting Archer's gaze matter-of-factly. "I've been waiting on the ship, on my own, until you were far enough from Earth that you _probably_ wouldn't turn around and hand me over to Starfleet Security. Captain," he concluded firmly, "I'm here to find the person hired to kill you, _before_ he or she actually becomes your assassin."

Archer considered quickly. On the one hand, he didn't like uninvited guests appearing on his ship—especially those wanted for murder in over a dozen systems. On the other hand, a hired gun with _him_ as the target was just about the _most_ uninvited guest Archer could imagine. And even T'Pol had praised Malcolm's investigative abilities in this area. "How exactly do you propose to find this person?" he finally ventured, not _explicitly_ giving him permission to remain on board.

Malcolm smiled a little, as if things were finally going the way he intended. "First I suggest that all new crewmembers be given a thorough physical by Dr. Phlox. _Nothing_ from their records should be assumed to be true, unless he can confirm it," he began, all business.

Marcus still felt the need to protest. "They were all given physicals at Starfleet Medical before—"

Malcolm cut him off. "I can think of at least four different ways to fake nearly a dozen different points of identification in a physical exam. Fortunately most of them involve having an outside co-conspirator or ample preparation time, which should reduce their effectiveness this time."

"I guess that's not unreasonable," Archer allowed.

"Could always say their records were eaten by a virus," Trip offered helpfully. Marcus merely glowered.

"Be sure to have fresh genetic profiles made and checked across all available databases. As you did with me," Malcolm added with a small grin. "Just because they aren't wanted on Earth doesn't mean they aren't wanted somewhere else. Also, I'll need to see all the records on the new personnel. Everything you have."

Marcus put his foot down on this idea. "This is going too far, Captain," he objected. "Turning over complete personnel records to a known criminal?" Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest patiently and waited. Trip shrugged. Archer stared at Marcus expectantly, as if to say, _And?_ "And... I told you, my team and I have already been all over those records, which came straight from Starfleet. What could _he_ possibly find that _we_ missed?"

"Anything that doesn't fit," Malcolm informed him. At Marcus's look Malcolm added, "Lieutenant, give me two hours and I could construct a perfect Starfleet record going all the way back to grammar school that would pass the usual level of scrutiny for a high-profile posting with flying colors. _We_ "—and Trip at least didn't miss the inclusive pronoun—"must apply a higher standard yet. Every detail must be checked."

"Suppose they all pass the physicals, and the records check," Archer suggested. "What then?"

Malcolm looked thoughtful. "Creating a disguise is one thing," he noted. "Maintaining it is quite another. You could ask certain crewmembers, whose observations you trust, to keep an eye on the newcomers, to talk to them about their histories and interests. Discreetly, of course," he added. "To... help them fit in to the crew better. Make friends. And if there's anything _off_ about them, that could bear further investigation."

"Feels kind of like we're asking the crew to report on each other," Marcus sniffed.

"If we were, so be it," Malcolm opined sharply. "But we aren't. It's only these fourteen that need watching. And," he continued dryly, "it's not as if we're looking for someone sitting in the corner of the Mess Hall whispering about mutiny. We're looking for someone who spends a lot of time alone, who isn't interested in making friends, who can't describe the area of the planet in which they allegedly grew up." He turned an _are you satisfied?_ look on Marcus. "It takes a very skilled assassin to be able to fake _memories_ convincingly."

"You were pretty convincing as a diver-turned-prostitute on Lymnaea," Trip remarked, a bit skeptically.

Malcolm gave a tiny but fond smile. "That was just vacation," he waved off dismissively. "And anyway, it's not as if you had any experience with the Lymnaean countryside, to know if I was lying."

"So we should try to pair the new people with crewmembers who spent time in the same places they were supposed to?" surmised Archer.

Malcolm nodded readily. "Which isn't a terribly unusual thing to do," he pointed out. "'You're new on board, Ensign So-and-So also grew up near... Paris, thought you two might have something in common to talk about.'"

Archer let out a breath. All of Malcolm's suggestions seemed perfectly reasonable, really. He wondered what he'd been picturing, subconsciously—torture sessions and truth serum, perhaps. Marcus, he knew, would never be satisfied, but that was a philosophical difference at this point. Archer was just about to agree to the plan when Trip spoke up, worry coloring his voice. "What if you _still_ can't find someone?" He glanced from Malcolm to Archer anxiously, and Jon suddenly realized how much his old friend had been concerned about this, and how much he was trusting Malcolm to fix it all.

Malcolm gave the engineer a reassuring smile. "Then I'll go out and watch them myself," he replied confidently. "'It takes one to know one,' is the appropriate expression, I believe." He turned back to Archer. "Captain, unless I'm forced to make my presence known later, I strongly believe we should limit the number of people who know I'm aboard."

"Why?" Trip asked suddenly. "I mean, maybe, if this person knew you were aboard, they would..." He broke off, shrugging. "Get scared off?"

Malcolm shook his head. "If the assassin actually tried to escape from the ship, we would of course immediately know who they were," he agreed, "but they might succeed in eluding us and would therefore remain a threat. Besides which, that kind of a panicked giveaway would be extremely amateurish." He said this in such a disdainful tone that Archer's lips twitched a bit. Trust Malcolm to have high standards for everything he did, right down to murder. "No, _if_ my presence were made known, and _if_ the assassin had any idea who I was, he or she would most likely just try to lie low, hold off the attempt, which would only prolong the time I needed to stay aboard your vessel." This last remark was directed squarely at Marcus. "At worst, it might provoke the assassin to try a different and more destructive plan."

"What do you mean?" Archer asked apprehensively.

"Psychology, Captain," Malcolm replied obscurely. "Whoever wants you dead wants the equivalent of your head displayed outside their city walls on a pike." Grimaces met this analogy, but Malcolm pressed on. "They want the news spread across the galaxy to be, 'Celebrated _Enterprise_ Captain, Archer, Found Strangled in Bed.'" And wasn't Jon going to sleep well _tonight_ , thank you. "An obvious and flashy murder. Perhaps they would even take credit for it. But," he went on darkly, "if pressured, the assassin might be forced to try Plan B—' _Enterprise_ 's Archer and Fifteen Others Killed in Shipboard Explosion,' or '...Killed in Battle with Hostile Species.' Not really something the Romulans could pop up and take responsibility for with any credibility—but you'd be just as dead. And so would a lot of other people."

Archer stared at him. "The way your mind works..." he finally began, not quite knowing how he intended to finish that sentence.

"Has kept you alive so far," Malcolm supplied, with a smile. "Let's hope that continues."

**Author's Note:**

> So, that's all I have of that one.
> 
> One more Enterprise series to go.


End file.
